The Corruption of a Hero
by Kiku Hoshi
Summary: Grindelwald laments. Written for the "Changed Universe Challenge" and the "Romeo and Juliet Challenge". Remember, iOverRate.


**Challenges:** "The Romeo and Juliet Challenge", "The Changed Universe Challenge"  
**Prompts: **"Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries That thou hast done me"(R #5 and partially #9 (CUC)**  
Pairings:** Implied pairings at points.**  
When:** Sometime after 1998, then some **  
Disclaimer: **I still don't own any part of "Harry Potter", nor do I own any Shakespearian works. Sadly. I must say, they'd be interesting in the least to meld if I did.

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I believed him, once. I believed the webs he spun around me, telling me of my greatness. I believed him when he told me that I was his and his only.

Of course, I saw the signs, but, at the time, I didn't want to consider anything about him to be "bad". It seemed highly unlikely that a boy such as him could have led on a boy like me. Oh yes, he was my elder, but he was pure of heart, you see, and his emotions were always in his eyes. He was my elder in age alone, for I was worldlier than he.

I was the evil one with the good intentions, the one who wanted to make the world safe for our kind at any cost. He was the sweet one, the caretaker, the one who taught the children regardless of blood, and wanted the world to be peaceful at any cost. He was the Beowulf to my Grendel, something about our names we noticed even while we were young: he was the good and powerful Beowulf, led astray by some but not others, while I was Grendel, the monster. We laughed about it, and he swore that he would never stand against me, but that he would be the light to my darkness.

Or so he said.

The prophecy between the one they called, "The Dark Lord" (a roughly boy half my age, with a title more fearsome than my own; if I was young enough, I'd be jealous), and one Harry Potter, is common knowledge. What is lesser known is the prophecy about this "Dark Lord", the Potter boy, and my Beowulf, and how the darkness would fall before the light did, and the common factor would be a deceived one.

Of course, the Order of the Phoenix was ecstatic when the news came in of the prophecy. The darkness would be vanquished!

They had no clue that that which they were fighting for was a lie.

My warrior was always a master at being deceptive. Young Tom was captivated by him, spun into his web of lies, of wizards and mastery of Muggles… Before it was too late, Tom got out, unlike I did. I allowed him into my mind and my heart, while the boy saw through him and ran.

But my pet did not take well to being told "No" by a tot. The boy was strong, a good ally to have. Instead of fretting, he merely came to me, supposedly to talk. I was fooled; enchanted by the life we could have together. He promised to steal away, join me in my exploits… As long as I would help him take the boy, bring him to our cause.

I was jealous. I wanted him all to myself, not to share him with a child. We argued, which turned into a duel. He cruelly knocked my unconscious after I had obviously won, and had my back turned.

I awoke in the tallest tower of my own prison.

It was then I knew – my Beowulf had been corrupted.

He rewrote history, so that I shouldered all the blame for our design, our "Wizards in Command" world. He continued to write, poisoning the world against young Tom. When the boy came to talk about teaching a subject in my beloved's place of employment, the subject turned quickly from teaching to joining forces.

The twinkle in my Beowulf's eyes was no longer from amusement in life, but the stupidity of others. He was the darling old grandfather, and Tom had taken the morph from innocent child, ensnared by an authority figure, to the villain.

Tom filled his supposed shoes well. He knew no one would believe him over my love, so he captured, in essence, the perfect desperado. It was breathtaking, really, how such a sweet boy could be so evil inside.

I see now what my warrior saw then, hidden deep within the boy.

A prophecy was forged, at the request of my beloved. He pretended to want to keep it hidden, all the while, feeding bits and pieces of it to Tom's minions. My Beowulf's plan worked: Tom attacked three innocents, killing two and nearly being killed when he tried to attack the child they bore.

My love interfered, casting a spell to banish him to another world, and then marked the babe with Tom's wand, creating a bond between them that would ultimately bring about both of their destructions.

The old wizard placed the infant with family who detested him, detested that which he came from. This assured that the little one would be willing to open himself to my Beowulf, when the time came, and would be a willing martyr. When that day came, the rumors of his parent's death wrapped around him, told to him by all, and he came to hate young Tom, who was nothing and everything like him.

My bumblebee buzzed around the youngster's ears, filling him full with lies about Tom and others who only wanted to help him – Tom's wrongly-named "Death Eaters". The child grew into a legal adult, and finally, one day not long after that point, Tom came to visit me, at his wit's end from battling a child whom he did not want to harm anymore, but wanted to educate.

He wished for me to join forces with him.

"I'm old, Tom. I can do no more but die."

"I need your help, Gellert. I need you to help me defeat Dumbledore's armies," he pleaded. I reminded him of the Deathly Hallows, something he had heard about in school, around the same time as Horcruxes (both of which were first mentioned during a period that Albus was threatening the half-blood's life. It was no wonder which he remembered and why). I even told him that I once possessed the wand myself, and the only way to receive it would be to win it from my love.

This would be no mean feat, as the wizard had died less than a year before our meeting.

I replied that I could not help him, for unless he defeated the man who had actually murdered Albus. Tom thanked me for my time, and then raised his wand. It waivered, and he asked me if I was serious.

"I am not afraid to die."

He was summoned by one of his followers, and I became exasperated when he said that he must leave.

"Kill me, then. You will not win, you cannot win. The wand will never, ever be yours…" I murmured, watching Tom. The look on his serpentine face as he began the incantation signaled that he knew I was correct.

_Poor boy. Poor Tom. If only Albus -_

The flash of light hit me while I was thinking, and I continued to ponder in silence.

It was sad, I realized, that in life I was able of speaking so callously of my beloved's death. Time passed, either exceptionally quickly or painfully slowly, in darkness, until I came to a conclusion: I was speaking of the Other Albus dying to Tom. My love, the pure of heart boy who wanted nothing more than to rule the world and live happily with me, undeceiving in our love for each other, had died long before 1945, when he betrayed me.

Albus Dumbledore, as most of the world knew him, was a conniving elder who could charm even the most deadly dragon, and hold their attention, their loyalty, with lies and praises galore.

My Albus, my straightforward, devil-may-care, brilliant strategist, my lover and comrade, had died when I allowed us to get carried away – and he more power hungry.

He could hurt and heal with a touch. Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, only incapable of inhabiting the same body.

_May, 1997. The members of the Order found Gellert Grindelwald rocking frantically in his rocking chair, hidden away in his high tower. Dumbledore had begged them to go check in on his old friend, as though he knew that he would never see his friend again. When they reported back that the second-Darkest wizard of the century was insane, screaming for him, the headmaster cradled his head in his hands for a few moments, then asked for a quill, ink, and parchment. They were delivered to the elderly man, although no one would have thought that until that exact moment. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was timeless, ageless, and practically immortal in the eyes of his crew. Lines instantly appeared on his face that no one had seen before, and his eyes seemed duller as he scribbled. His hand wobbled, which he tried to ignore until his penmanship was practically illegible. Then, ink still wet, quill barely lifted from its final flourish, he folded the note and flicked his wand._

_The note appeared on the floor in the middle of Grindelwald's container, the note which the old man eagerly picked up. He knew the ruse would work, would force his beloved to contact him, perhaps to visit, to apologize for old unkindness. He unfolded the inky message with a delighted smile – his youthful looks still apparent in some ways, through his hope – and began to read. A moment later, he began to cry, the smile still in his features, as though too shocked to leave._

_There in his love's handwriting:_

My Grendel:  
"Boy, this shall not excuse the injuries that thou hast done me"  
Your Judgment Day will come.  
-Your Beowulf

_The world's second-greatest Dark wizard collapsed to the floor, a pile of raw emotion._

_Betrayal._

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**Author's Note:**** The note that Dumbledore sent to Grindelwald is supposed to be a bit ironic – both believe that the other has done them wrong, and that they themselves are in the clear. It's supposed to show duality of truth – both are correct that they were wronged, but not that they were spotless themselves.**

**This isn't supposed to be a complete Alternate Universe, just a second perspective and the other part of all the Dumbledore-narrated stories. After all, memories can be altered…**

**Don't like a "bad" Dumbledore and "noble" Tom? Back button, back button. :D Also, Harry is barely mentioned because this wasn't really about him.**

**This wasn't really supposed to be entirely coherent – it's a post-mortem monologue, and I kind of see Grindelwald as a bit mad from being locked up for so long… So if you were confused on any part, I can say it probably was supposed to be that way. :)**


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